


Hoarding Instincts

by Valinde (Valyria)



Series: Ten Trope Prompts [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dragon Castiel, Homeless Castiel, Hypothermia, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mechanic Dean Winchester, NOT CRACK I SWEAR, Omega Castiel, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean finds a homeless dragon at Starbucks and takes him home with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoarding Instincts

Dean cleaned his hands as thoroughly as he could, but the dark grease lining his fingernails and worked into the calluses of his hands wasn’t going anywhere. He never really got his hands  _clean._ When you’d spent all day elbow deep in the guts of a wounded Camaro it was about all you could expect.

He didn’t mind though, he loved his job, loved the smell of the workshop – oil, gasoline and old leather upholstery – the way it seemed to seep into his skin. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who went into Starbucks and left perfect greasy fingerprints everywhere. Not only would his mother disapprove, the idea of leaving more or less  _forensic_  evidence all over the straw dispenser or whatever was weirdly unsettling.

It was cold though, ‘cold as balls’ according to his boss even, and Dean really wanted an enormous sugary latte covered in whipped cream. No one knew about his embarrassing Starbucks habit, it was a jealously guarded secret, but there was one just across the street from his apartment building downtown so he often popped in to indulge in his secret addiction to pumpkin spice lattes. (It was December - he was just being festive.)

When his craving struck that evening it was snowing. The wind bit cold against his face as he emerged from his apartment building and he was glad he’d worn a hoodie under his jacket. It was only a short dash to the shop, but he was wishing for a scarf and gloves by the time he made it. Inside the shop smelled like coffee and Christmas and Dean felt his mood instantly buoyed as he ordered and waited for his name to be called.

He grabbed some napkins, a spoon and some extra sugar as the kids behind the counter fiddled with the big coffee machines, glancing around for a seat as he did so. The shop was busy though, lots of people with bags of Christmas shopping sitting around nursing delicious, warm, sugary things. The only free seats were at the long bar against the window so once he had his drink Dean headed over to one.

He sat there for a few minutes happily absorbed in his drink, spooning the cream off the top then stirring in more sugar before finally taking his first sip. It was hot, sweet and delicious. He sighed happily.

The guy sitting next to him (a beta judging from the nothing smell of him) was fidgeting though, spinning a small cup with some dregs of black coffee in it around in his hands and distracting Dean from giving his latte the full attention it deserved. There were a dozen empty sachets of sugar spread across the counter in front of him. Dean subtly side-eyed him, curious, but trying not to stare too obviously.

There was a plastic shopping bag at his feet and for a minute Dean thought he was just another Christmas shopper, but then he noticed a few other things. The hoodie drawn up over his head even though he was indoors, the uneven stubble across his too-sharp jaw, the mismatched gloves, the piece of duct tape across a split on his left boot… The fact that he appeared to be wearing at least four layers for warmth instead of just one decent winter coat…

Dean looked again at the empty sugar packets and felt a mix of pity and discomfort. An addict. Homeless maybe.

Embarrassed at his own reaction, (the guy was just sitting there quietly minding his own business after all - Dean had no right to be staring and judging), he focused on his drink and ignored him. But out of the corner of his eye the stranger’s hands kept picking at his cup and every now and then he pulled at his sleeve to glance at the cheap plastic watch on his wrist. Dean wondered if he was waiting to meet someone, a dealer maybe?

“Can I help you?” a deep voice asked, starting Dean from his nosy staring.

He looked up, cheeks flushing at being caught. The homeless guy had one eyebrow raised, and his shoulders were tense. He was surprisingly good looking for a drug addict.

“Uh… yeah, you got the time?” Dean asked stupidly, as if that’s had been the cause of his interest.

“It is 8:49pm,” the guy told him coolly.

“Cool, thanks.” Dean gave him an awkward smile and then turned a little in his seat, sipping at his cooling coffee. He could feel the guy staring at him though, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started checking his email mindlessly. There was one from Sam. He read through it as he worked his way through his Venti and then started tapping out a reply laboriously. He hated typing on his phone. His fingers felt too fat and stupid for the screen. He was so busy being absorbed in his phone that he didn’t realize the crowd was thinning out until he finished the last of his drink.

The baristas were wiping down tables and he and a girl with a laptop were the only ones still in the shop. The addict was gone, the cup and sugar packets with him. Dean put his stuff in the trash, gave the guy cleaning the front counter a friendly wave and then headed outside.

It was  _freezing._

Snow must have been falling the entire time he was inside because it had built up in mounds on the sidewalk and over parked cars. Dean was very glad he only had to walk one block and cross the street to get inside his nice warm, non-blizzardy apartment. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he started home at a brisk pace. The cold made him hungry so he speculated about the contents of his fridge as he walked, debating what he’d have for dinner.

Someone coughed as he was contemplating frozen pizza and he turned towards the noise automatically, alpha instincts flaring up defensively.

There was a shape huddled on the doorstep of the building he was passing.

It was the guy from the coffee shop. Dean recognized his bag and the hoodie pulled low over his face even though he couldn’t actually see much of him. He was shivering, his shoulders shaking.

He didn’t look up as Dean passed.

Dean kept walking, but he didn’t make it far before his conscience was whining at him and he was turning back towards the sad bundle pressed tight against the brick like it would keep him warm. Dean wasn’t an asshole. He didn’t usually hand out money on the street cause he was never sure if he was  _actually_ helping, but clearly this guy needed help. It was  _snowing_  and he was huddled on a stoop.

There’d been talk that day on the classic rock station Bobby ran through the workshop speakers about a possible blizzard, and it looked like the forecast had been right for once. Dean knew he could keep walking, go home and have a nice hot shower, eat some pizza, watch some tv and then crawl into his big bed… but what if tomorrow morning he heard about some poor guy frozen to death overnight? This guy?

Feeling extremely awkward, Dean made his way back to the stoop the homeless man was sitting on. He only looked up when Dean stopped directly in front of him. “Um, hey,” Dean said, for lack of anything better.

The guy just stared at him. The light was poor but weirdly Dean could still make out how blue his eyes were. He looked completely sober and sane. His pupils weren’t pinned or anything. That made Dean feel a little better about what he was about to do.

“You want a shower, something to eat, and a couch to sleep?” he offered bluntly. “I live across the street. Apparently there’s gonna be a blizzard tonight.”

The homeless guy just blinked up at him. After a very long pause he asked, slowly and suspiciously, “And what do you want in return human?”

Dean frowned at the ‘human’ and then noticed that with the guy’s hoodie was up the only bit of skin he could see was his face. And he  _did_ have weirdly bright eyes and now that he was paying attention Dean saw the odd  _sharpness_ of his teeth. “Holy shit, you’re a  _dragon_?” he asked in awe. “What the hell you doing on a street corner man?”

Dragons were, as a general rule, extremely wealthy and in Dean’s experience, pretentious assholes. They lived a long-ass time and thought they were better than everyone else basically. The only ones Dean had ever met had been the rich dickbags that brought their pristine, collectable, classic cars in for work at the garage.

The man - _dragon-_ frowned and hunched in on himself. “I displeased my brothers and they threw me out of our nest,” he said miserably.

Dean winced in sympathy but didn’t bother offering platitudes. “It’s snowing,” he said, sort of redundantly. “Isn’t that like, really bad for you guys? Aren’t you meant to basically hibernate in the winter?”

“…It is very uncomfortable,” the dragon admitted.

Dean reached down and offered him a hand. “So c’mon,” he said. “You can have the couch. I don’t wanna hear about you freezing to a popsicle overnight.”

He took Dean’s hand hesitantly and let him help him to his feet. “And… you don’t want anything in return?” he asked warily. “I have no money.”

“Nah it’s cool,” Dean told him. “Good karma and all that. Christmas spirit or whatever.”

The dragon didn’t look particularly convinced, but Dean supposed he didn’t have a lot of choice. A dragon in a blizzard? He really would freeze to death. He nodded at Dean’s words then stooped and picked up his plastic bag, holding it against his chest protectively. Dean restrained his curiosity and didn’t try and look inside. It probably contained his very mundane and depressing worldly belongings. Spare socks. A toothbrush maybe.

“C’mon,” he said, pointing. “That’s my building there.”

The dragon nodded again and fell hesitantly into step beside him. The silence was awkward, but Dean didn’t know how to make conversation with a homeless  _dragon_ , so he didn’t try. The dragon seemed very polite though. He maintained a respectful distance from Dean as they walked and stood at the rear of the elevator as they headed up to Dean’s floor. Once the door to his apartment was open he hesitated at the threshold looking at Dean meekly until Dean invited him in.

His apartment wasn’t much. One bed, one bath and an open plan living room and kitchen, but it was comfortable enough for one person, and it was warm.

“Wanna hot shower?” Dean offered. “You could borrow something of mine to sleep and we could wash your stuff?”

“That would be… wonderful,” the dragon told him, still sounding hesitant but losing some of his terse suspicion.

Dean looked him over critically. He was a smidge shorter, but Dean’s clothes would fit good enough to sleep in. “Bathroom’s in there,” he said, pointing at the door.  “I’ll grab you some clothes.” He glanced down at the bag the dragon was still clutching. “You can put your stuff wherever man, I won’t mess with it.”

When he came into the bathroom to deliver a pair of sweats, clean boxers and a t-shirt the dragon was just standing in the middle of the tiled room, still clutching onto his bag. Dean put down the clean clothes and dug around under the sink until he found a spare toothbrush still in the plastic. “Here you go,” he said. “Once you’re done we’ll go downstairs to the laundry and wash your stuff okay?” Dean didn’t think suggesting the dragon give him all his clothing while he showered would be met with approval given how carefully he was holding onto his bag.

“Thank you,” the dragon said, very gravely, eyes big and solemn.

Dean shrugged awkwardly and left him to it.

The dragon took a  _really_ long shower. Finally though, the water shut off and a few minutes later the door cracked open, very slowly, like he was worried what he’d find on the other side. When he realized all that awaited him was Dean, the tv, a clothes basket and a box of washing powder, he opened the door fully and stepped out.

Dean tried not to stare, but the dragon looked… well… the dragon was really hot.

(Figuratively  _and_ literally.)

Dark horns peeked out from the mess of his damp hair, curled like a ram’s or something, and the shirt Dean had given him didn’t cover all his markings. There were rings of weird dragon-rune tattooing around his neck and wrists, along with strange occult looking symbols up his forearms, but what really got Dean’s attention were the dark scales on the backs of his knuckles and his elbows. From what Dean knew about dragons, he’d have scales on his shoulder, his knees and maybe down his spine too. He was pretty sure it varied dragon to dragon, like hair on did on people.

The dragon shuffled a little closer and Dean noticed that his toenails were black. Like his horns. The hands clutching the bundle of his things in his arms were tipped similarly, with fingernails more like claws.

Dean had never seen a dragon up close before and never with their guard down. He wondered if he could manage a full shift - turn into an actual wings-and-fire dragon – and what he’d look like if he could. He was pretty sure you couldn’t just  _ask_ a dragon about their shift though. That was secret scaly business or whatever. No humans allowed.

 “Feel better?” he asked instead, getting to his feet and picking up the basket and powder.

The dragon nodded.

“Let’s go get your stuff clean then.”

In the lift on the way down he couldn’t help but scent him subtly now that he was clean. But all he picked up on was shampoo and bodywash. Definitely a beta then. Probably for the best. Kept things simple.

Dean set up the machine for him, but didn’t try and touch his things, letting the dragon carefully pat down the pockets of each item of clothing before he dropped it into the drum. Dean put it on a heavy setting. “This’ll take an hour,” he said. “Usually I go back upstairs and watch some TV or something. Although I’m kinda hungry. Want something to eat?”

“You leave your clothes here?” the dragon asked in alarm. “Unattended?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean told him. “No one who lives here is gonna mess with your stuff.”

The dragon didn’t look convinced.

“You can stay down here if you want?” Dean suggested. “I could bring you something to eat?”

“No… No that isn’t necessary,” the dragon replied, standing and holding his tatty shopping bag to his chest once more.

“You sure?” Dean asked. “I don’t mind.”

The dragon shook his head but he stared at the machine as he followed Dean out of the laundry.

Dean shoved a pizza in the oven and for lack of better ideas, gave the dragon a beer.

He drank it in one very long mouthful, then smacked his lips together thoughtfully. “An odd tasting beverage.”

Dean got him a coke out of the fridge instead. The dragon’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of the red can and he reached out towards it eagerly, popping it open with a clawed fingernail and guzzling half of it down in one practiced movement.

Dean smirked. “So you guys really  _do_  have a thing for sugar then?”

The dragon sniffed. “We expend a large amount of energy staying warm,” he said. “We evolved to find energy rich foodstuffs the most palatable.”

Dean rustled around in the pantry and pulled out a snickers bar, tossing it to the dragon. “Here, snack on this while the pizza cooks.”

The dragon hummed in pleasure as it bit into the chocolate. “Oh thank you. These are my favorite.”

Dean grabbed his beer and sat down at the bench beside him. “No problem. So what’s your name? I’m Dean by the way.”

The dragon swallowed and put down the chocolate to give Dean his full attention. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Dean, I am Cass Tee El -” There was more to the name, a lot more, but it was in dragon-speak so it sounded like a lot of growling and hissing to Dean.  “However I understand pronouncing drakonic phonetics is very difficult for humans.”

“Uh, Cas-tee-ell?” Dean said, trying to repeat back the part he’d been able to follow. “Cas-ti-el? Castiel? I got that much.”

The dragon brightened. “Castiel,” he agreed eagerly. “That is what my nestmates called me.”

“So I can call you that?”

The dragon – Castiel – nodded.

He liked the pizza, especially the pineapple and the cheese, and while they ate he answered Dean’s curious questions about dragons in general, though Dean carefully refrained from asking for any personal information. He doubted Castiel wanted to speak about whatever mess had left him homeless to a relative stranger. He watched Dean clear away the dishes curiously, and then they went back downstairs to check on his washing.

He was still carrying his plastic bag, but in his hand now, not clutched protectively to his chest. Dean took that as a sign he was warming up to him.

The machine only had a few minutes left, so they waited and then transferred the load into a dryer. “Okay, half an hour and all your stuff will be toasty warm and smelling like,” Dean picked up the washing powder and peered at the box, “Summer Jasmine, whatever the hell that is.”

“Thank you Dean,” Castiel said. “You are a very kind human.”

Dean felt himself blush under the awkward praise. “Uh thanks Castiel. You’re a… really cool dragon,” he offered back weakly.

They headed back to Dean’s apartment and watched TV while Castiel’s clothes dried. Dean gave the dragon more chocolate and he sat cross-legged in the corner of the sofa making pornographic noises as he worked he way through another snickers bar and a bag of chocolate chip cookies. When the half an hour was up they went and picked up Castiel’s things. Nothing seemed to have shrunk and Castiel was obviously delighted with how clean everything was, sniffing them and rubbing them against his cheek.

By the time they were back upstairs it was late and Dean was yawning. He set up the couch for Castiel with his spare pillow and the extra blanket he kept for when Sam stayed over. The dragon thanked him again, very earnestly, and then Dean retreated to his bedroom. It took him a little while to get to sleep – Castiel seemed like a perfectly safe, trustworthy person to have inside – but he still had a  _dragon_ on his couch and it was more than a little weird.

He was woken up hours later by how  _cold_  he was. He rolled over and tucked his blankets around himself a little tighter, but he was distractingly, uncomfortably cold. Grumbling he got up and made his way out into the living room to check the thermostat. Maybe he’d bumped it or Castiel had fiddled with it?

“Dean?”

“Yeah Cas,” Dean replied, fiddling with the gauge. It was set correctly, but the heat was obviously off.

“It is very cold,” the dragon told him, voice wavering with a shiver, from where he was balled up on the couch.

“Yeah the heat’s off,” Dean told him. A quick flick of the light switch confirmed his suspicion. “Power’s out.”

“Ah,” Castiel said, but offered no other comment.

With his eyes adjusting to the dark Dean could make him out. He was curled up in a fetal position with the blanket  _and_ his pillow on top of him. Suddenly Dean remembered how much more susceptible to the cold dragons were than humans.

Outside the city was dark and Dean could hear the wind howling even through the double glazing. He was  _really_  glad that Castiel wasn’t stuck outside in that, but he looked so miserable on Dean’s couch that he still felt guilty.

He chewed on his lip for a minute then padded across to him and tapped him on the shoulder. A pale face appeared in a gap in the blanket. Dean could feel his shivers vibrating up his arm. “C’mon,” he said. “You can sleep with me. Without the heat on it’s too cold for you out here.”

“Thank you… but that… isn’t necessary,” Castiel told him, teeth chattering.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah it’s a bit weird, but I don’t want you getting… dragon-hypothermia on my couch or something. So c’mon man.”

Castiel unfolded himself slowly, clutching the blanket. Dean helped him to his feet and made to lead him towards the bedroom, but the dragon pulled away and stooped to pick up his bag. Except he tried to grab it one-handed since he was clutching at the blanket, and his fingers were shaking and clumsy.

He knocked it over. Bright little bits and pieces rattled out, scattering across the floor. Dean knew he shouldn't look but he was curious and he was already staring.

It was trash. Bottlecaps mostly. A few bright bits of glass and plastic and those cheap polished pebbles people put in vases.

Castiel ducked down onto his knees and immediately started scooping them back into the bag, his shoulders hunched and tense.

Dean swallowed around the logjam in his throat and tried very hard not to think about half-forgotten dragon-lore and hoarding instincts. He stared over towards the bedroom door until Castiel had everything back in his bag and didn’t make any comment, didn’t even glance at it.

The covers on his bed were still thrown back from when he’d gotten up. Dean crawled back under them and gestured for Castiel to get in opposite. The dragon hesitated for a moment, then carefully put his bag down next to the bed and climbed gingerly in, taking the blanket from the couch with him. Dean tucked the duvet in around him and ignored how uncomfortable this entire situation made him.

A few minutes later, when Dean had gotten comfortable on his side of the bed, Castiel spoke again. “Thank you… D-dean.” He was still shivering, but Dean was pretty sure he’d warm up. His bed was a lot warmer than the couch.

“It’s cool Cas,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

Dean was tired and it was cold, so he dozed off pretty fast considering he had a strange bottlecap hoarding dragon in his bed, but he didn’t sleep long. He woke up to the sound of Castiel’s teeth chattering.

Frowning he rolled over. Castiel was completely under the covers, a shaking lump curled in on itself.

“Cas?” Dean grunted. “Castiel?”

The dragon didn’t reply.

Dean hesitantly poked at him and was taken aback at how fiercely he was shivering. Worried, he pulled back the covers so he could see his face. Castiel’s lips looked pale in the feeble moonlight and his face was screwed up in misery.

“Shit man,” Dean muttered. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The dragon didn’t reply, just curled in tighter on himself, like a freezing cat.

Dean sighed and made a quick decision. He burrowed under the covers and pulled the dragon against his chest, spooning him. Cuddling up with a relative stranger was worlds away from his comfort zone, but Dean wasn’t about to let Castiel get hypothermia just because he was too manly to snuggle.

Castiel pressed back into him, blindly craving Dean’s warmth, but he turned to look at him over his shoulder in confusion. “D-d-dean?” he asked. “I thought… you didn’t… want… anything?”

It was painful listening to him try to get words past out in between his shivers and Dean didn’t parse what he was saying until the dragon twisted around so he was facing Dean and an ice-cold, shaking, hand started fumbling with his pajamas.

“Whoa!” Dean reached down and grabbed at Cas’s frozen fingers. “Not what I meant dude. I’m just trying to help warm you up alright?”

“Oh,” Castiel said, sounding very confused, laying stiffly beside Dean.

Forcing himself to ignore the inherent awkwardness of sharing body heat and abortive offers of sexual favors, Dean slotted them together so that they were both sort of comfortable and tugged at Castiel’s hands, pressing them under his shirt so he could warm them up against Dean’s bare skin.

He was like a damn  _icicle,_ but Dean managed not to flinch.

Once he realized what Dean was genuinely offering, Castiel loosened up and sort of twisted around him, burying himself tightly against every bit of warm Dean-flesh he could get his frosty dragon-bits on. “Oh... thank you… Dean,” he murmured into Dean’s shirt. “You’re… so  _warm.”_

He said it like body heat was an enormous accomplishment on Dean’s behalf.

Dean huffed. “S’okay man.”

He tried to relax and go back to sleep, but even though Castiel’s shaking lessened, it didn’t stop completely. Against his chest Dean could feel the rattle of his teeth as they chattered in his skull. Castiel didn’t complain though, just huddled there pathetically. When maybe half an hour had passed and the icy chill before dawn seeped into the room, Dean made another very awkward decision.

“Cas?”

The dragon looked up from where he’d had his face pressed against Dean’s chest. His eyes were glowing slightly in the dark “Dean?”

Dean licked his lips and phrased his words carefully. “It’s getting colder,”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed miserably. “I  _h-h-hate_ winter.”

“So um, here,” he wriggled and maneuvered awkwardly under the covers until he could pull his shirt off. “Take off your shirt. I should be able to warm you up better like this.”

Castiel blinked at him for a moment. “But I’m  _cold_ ,” he insisted petulantly, like Dean was a complete moron. “I don’t…. want to… take  _off_   _anything_.”

“Just trust me,” Dean said.

Castiel sighed and then very slowly and grudgingly pulled off the shirt Dean had lent him. Dean forced himself not to look at the expanse of skin and intriguing tattoos and  _scales_ that were revealed and instead pulled Castiel back in against him. For a minute the dragon’s shivering was stronger, but then it calmed.

“Better?” Dean asked.

“A little,” Castiel admitted, but he was  _still_ shaking and outside the blizzard was still howling and rattling the windows.

“Oh fuck it,” Dean muttered and reached down to pull his pajama pants off. “Lose the pants Cas.”

Castiel eyed him warily, but complied. He went all stiff in Dean’s arms again though, like he was expecting to be molested or something. Luckily the fact that he was icy cold to the touch was a great distraction from the fact that he was  _really_  attractive and they were more or less naked, and Dean didn’t have any embarrassing physical reactions to anything. After maybe ten minutes the shivering finally stopped.

“Success,” Dean murmured, not bothering to open his eyes. “Feeling better Cas?”

The dragon nodded against Dean’s shoulder. “Yes. Thank you Dean.”

“Good,” Dean replied with a yawn and the finally let himself fall asleep.

His bladder had him untangling from a grumbling Castiel and stumbling to the bathroom sometime around dawn. When he crawled back under the covers the dragon immediately wrapped himself around Dean like a particularly clingy, purring octopus. Dean didn't mind. Castiel was warm now and he smelled nice. He patted at his messy hair and fell back asleep with his fingers curled around one of his horns. Turned out spooning with a dragon was weirdly comfortable.

It was bright morning when Dean woke up properly, and he woke up feeling  _amazing_. There was someone warm in his arms, skin to skin, and he had his face buried against a neck that smelled  _incredible._  He nuzzled against his bed companion sleepily, scenting them and rubbing his face into them so he could get his own scent mixed in there ‘cause that was about the only thing that could possibly make them smell any better.

They whimpered and pressed back into him and Dean realized to his delight that he was grinding his morning wood into the damp cleft of someone’s ass, honeyed scent of slick and arousal teasing his nose. As he humped lazily against them and licked and sucked at the sweet skin of their shoulder and neck, his wits slowly sharpened and returned to him. When Castiel moaned  _“Dean,”_  and reached back to grab at his hip, grinding his ass into his erection insistently, he abruptly remembered that events of the night before.

He pulled away from Cas so fast he nearly fell out of bed. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get his libido under control. “Shit, sorry Cas,” he croaked, voice hoarse from sleep.

All he got in response was a vague hum and then Castiel was rolling over to face him plastering himself all over him again.

“Oh  _shit_ ,” Dean hissed as he realized the dragon had removed the boxers he’d loaned him at some point and that was his bare dick he was pressing into Dean’s hip. It was difficult, but Dean tried to untangle the confusing, sexy mess Castiel had tangled his thoughts into.

“Ahh, Cas… No, you don’t have to-” he started, because even though the dragon was hard and clearly enjoying himself, he didn’t want him to do this as some sort of payment for Dean’s kindness.

Castiel didn’t seem to be listening though, instead he was rubbing his face against Dean’s neck, marking him with his scent and groping Dean’s hard on through the cotton of his shorts. Finally Dean realized something. He was currently enveloped in a veritable  _fog_ of omega heat-scent, and Castiel hadn’t smelled of  _anything_ the night before. In fact Dean had thought he was a beta.

“You’re… You’re in heat!” he managed as Castiel licked at his neck with a very hot tongue.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed happily, nipping at his skin with those sharp little teeth of his. “In heat for  _you._ ”

With a monumental effort of will, Dean grabbed at Cas’s hands, stopping their exploration of his ass and dick respectively. Castiel drew back to frown at him in confusion. “You’re not thinking straight,” Dean told him, trying to sound stern and failing pretty epically. “You don’t even know me, you don’t really want this.”

Those eerie blue eyes flashed and then Dean suddenly found himself on his back, arms pinned above his head, Castiel straddling his hips and holding him down easily. “Dragons only go into heat when they find their  _mates_  Dean.”

Dean blinked up at him, trying to keep his brain functioning. It was hard though, because Castiel was grinding his ass against his dick, his slick soaking through Dean’s shorts, and it was…  _incredibly_ … distracting. “So… ugh -  _jesus fuck_ \- would you hold on for a second!?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he ground down very deliberately.

“Ngh!” Dean’s hips jerked up against his will and Castiel smirked down at him. “I’m... I’m your mate?” he gasped, rapidly losing what little remained of his control. “You’re  _sure?”_

Castiel nodded and released one of Dean’s arms so he could reach down and start slowly jacking himself as he rocked back against him. Dean stared, hypnotized. There was a gorgeous, horny,  _dragon_  humping him and jerking off and leaking heat-slick all over his lap. Was that really a bad thing? When Castiel reached down and yanked Dean’s shorts out of the way, instead of trying to stop him or talk reason into him, Dean found himself lifting his hips and grinding up into his touch. His fingers were hot and sticky.

Dean tried to control himself, but when Castiel sat back and slowly took him inside, whining and shaking, he gave up even pretending he didn’t want it. He planted his feet against the mattress and fucked up into the tight, wet, goddamn  _molten_  heat wrapped around his dick. Castiel hissed and let out some warbling mess of noise that held no similarity at all with any human language, and then immediately started more or less bouncing on Dean’s dick.

There was absolutely zero restraint or finesse.

Castiel clearly wasn’t trying to look sexy or impress Dean, was just staring down at him and fucking himself desperately, little punched out huffs and grunts bubbling out of him as he rocked up and down on Dean’s cock. He looked incredible though, all lean tight muscle, twisting tattoos and dark scales and he so  _hot_ inside, so very clearly a  _dragon._ Overwhelmed - so turned on he was basically inside out - Dean barely lasted a minute before his knot was swelling up and Castiel was moaning even louder, slamming down in transparent, wanton delight at the feel of it.

“Fuck,  _Cas,”_ Dean panted because this was downright humiliating but he was already on the cusp of coming.

Castiel seemed to be down with that though. “ _Yes_ ,” he hissed, grinding down tight. “Dean, mate. Inside,  _inside-”_

And then Dean was basically coming on command. Digging his fingers into Cas’s hips, he fucked in as deep as he could get and then painted Cas’s insides as his knot pulsed and swelled, tying them together. Castiel let out a broken, rapturous, sort of warble and before Dean knew what he was doing he’d sat up and buried his teeth in his neck with a snarl, claiming the dragon as his omega.

He felt Castiel clench in orgasm around his knot, milking more come from him even as his own spilled wet and hot between their stomachs.

Dean collapsed back against the mattress, pulling Castiel down on top of him. “Fuck,” he muttered, completely shattered by the intensity of their mating. “Holy  _shit_.”

Castiel just hummed with satisfaction and nuzzled at Dean’s neck, rubbing against him like a cat. Absently Dean reached down and petted his hair, curiously tracing the curl of a horn where it emerged from the soft mess of his hair. His fingers wrapped around it almost automatically and he used it like a handle to tug Castiel’s head up so he could kiss him. His dragon seemed to like that.

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> written for the following prompt:
> 
> "Dean the mechanic meets a homeless tattoo dragon named Cas in his local coffee shop and offers him a room in his apartment when a sudden snow storm forces them to conserve body heat by sleeping together naked when surprise heat then sex then omg we're truemates, what are the chances?"
> 
> and perhaps the weirdest thing I have ever written.


End file.
